Reaping day - Haymitch POV
by beatenkitten
Summary: the events of the reaping day from haymitch's perspective


I wake up around noon to my head pounding. I welcome the familiar feeling of a hangover. I reach under the table, bring out another bottle, and toss it back. Everyone thinks I drink just because I can, for the pleasure of it. But they couldn't be any more wrong. I drink to forget, I drink to escape my Hunger Games.

Oh right. The Reaping. Today is the day of the 74th annual Hunger Games, where I have to mentor two terrified kids from the ages 12 to 18. Normally these kids are starving and weak. They almost never stand a chance against the careers. I've been dreading this day for months. Awaiting the day where the capital sends yet another two children off to their deaths and I'm the one who is supposed to help them stay alive, what a hopeless endeavour.

_I hear her screams fill the arena "Haymitch-", I follow her agonising cries and run to her with as much energy I can require. I reach her. She's scrawled across the forest floor, lying in an unearthly position. Candy pink birds are attacking her, just one of the many abominations the capital has created to set on us tributes in the arena. But it's too late. Their razor sharp beaks have already slit her throat. I hold her hand, "Maysilee, it's going to be okay, I'm going to get you home to district 12, don't you worry." I tell her with tears in my eyes. She smiles and her hand goes slack in mine. Why, couldn't I save her?_

Yet again, the memories of the games fill my brain. I take another swig from the bottle. By now I've grown accustomed to this terror. Even though I'm a victor... there is no escaping the games.

I remember during my interview with Caeser Flickerman, when he asked me what I thought about the games having twice as many tributes from each district and I replied _"I don't see much difference, they are going to be just as stupid"_. No. How stupid I was to even think this, and even then to say it. It just makes me realise how wrong I was.

I get dressed in my best clothes, after all I seldom live to _please_ the capital. I arrive at the reaping, the boys and girls of district 12 are already stationed in place before the stage. Some are weeping already, many are young as twelve. I hate it when twelve year olds are picked. It's not fair that tiny children are forced to go up against big older kids, some who have even trained their whole lives.

Well there's Effie with her annoying capital accent "Haymitch! Haymitch! Come on, you're late." Oh, yes what a tragedy that would be if the district 12 mentor was late. It doesn't even matter, because everyone would just assume I was drunk. Even though, I'm not in a place to argue otherwise. "Hello there Effie" I say while I ruffle up her wig. I take my seat on the stage, alone. There are no other victors still alive here in district 12, I'm the only one left. Sometimes I wish that there were others … others who could understand and share my pain. But, what does that make me, to wish this agony upon someone else. I watched the faces of those in the crowd, everyone looked nervous, except the parents who looked petrified. I hate that I can't help them. They shouldn't have to go through what I did. But, whether I like it or not, in a couple of weeks I'm going to have at least one dead tribute on my hands, if not two.

It's the same every year. Every year, two scared, hopeless kids are selected. I try not to become attached to them, but I can never help myself. A part of me always reaches out to them every year. And every year when they die, a part of me dies as well. It never ends.

The mayor gets up to the podium and begins to read the history of Panem. He drones on and on but I know he's required to do this. Then Effie comes up to the podium as bubbly as ever. I sometimes forget that this is just entertainment to people like her. The people of the capitol don't care that they murder 23 kids every year and emotionally scar one for life. I've grown to tune out the events of reaping as the years went by.

But these games are different from last years, and a girl's screams pierce my attention. I recognise this girl. I remember seeing her at the hob every now and then, the only reason I go is to buy alcohol from greasy sae, she's the only one who sells the strong stuff. But this girl, I've heard about her, she hunts game in the woods, in secret from capitol and is apparently highly skilled. Maybe she could have promise in these sadistic games.

I finally realise that she has volunteered for her younger sister, who is only twelve years old. Not one person clapped, but they all put three fingers to their lips, and then put them in the air. The people of Panem all knew this gesture. It meant goodbye but showed that they did not agree with these reaping's.

I saw the girl fighting tears. I like her. I feel like I can understand her, she's got spunk. I want to help her, maybe I can save her… maybe it can help atone for me not being able to save Maysilee. I know it's not much, but it's something and at the moment it's all I've got to cling on to. The last bit of humanity within me. The last bit that hasn't been destroyed from these games, yet.


End file.
